Mafia Runner [Boyxboy]

Chapter 1.1

Note of the author Beautifully Shattered: I know nothing about the Mafia (well, only what Wikipedia told me). So, of course, there will be mistakes in here and it definitely won't mirror the real-life Mafia.

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"All I hear about his boss is shit."

"Language, Afton!"

I slumped further against the couch as my mother's shrill warning drifted across the kitchen and into the living room. My fingers fumbled across the black remote, a sign of my suppressed anxiety.

My older brother was bringing his boss over for dinner. Despite the fact that I have never seen Nick's boss, I heard plenty about him. Well, that wasn't alltrue. Nick only praised his boss and never divulged anything personal. I remembered all those Christmases and holidays when Nick had to stay after-hours for his boss and all those late nights when he would come home looking like shit.

I guess the real reason I despised his boss was because he took my brother away from me. Ever since Nick started working for the man, he had never been the same. Our brotherly-bond had weakened and stretched thin the day Nick came home, sharing the news that he worked for Lucian Romano.

The man was an asshole. I clenched my jaw just thinking about playing nice. "Do I really have to be here? I have homework to do for tomorrow."

My father passed in front of the television as he adjusted his tie. His height dwarfed me, even if I would be standing. Being around him and my brother gave me the constant reminder that I was the runt of the family and not likely to grow anytime soon, if at all. Doubtless, I gazed up at him in nonchalance, feigning that I wasn't affected by his looming figure.

"You've never taken such an interest in homework before," he started, knotting the black tie around his neck. "You'll do wellto behave in front of Mr. Romano, Afton. Do you understand me?"

His brown gaze met my green. I tried to challenge his stare, but found I was powerless. Reluctantly, I dropped my gaze, knowing when to push and when to heel. Though, to be honest, it was always submission with him. "Yes, father." I responded dully.

Through lowered lashes, I watched him walk away, taking his tall, dark and handsome looks with him. I hated the constant reminder at how different I was from the rest of my family. They were all tall and beautiful with their Italian dark hair and eyes. I, on the other hand, was gifted with messy dark-blond hair and green eyes. My height also left much to be desired. Standing at 5'6", I was exactly two inches shorter than my own mother!

Plus, my whole family seemed to be bred with the ability to carry themselves with class and elegance. I was, well, not so elegant and classy.

My grandfather and grandmother moved to America from Italy. Here, in New Jersey, he and my father had built a name for the Conti's. I didn't know much about my heritage. Hell, I didn't really care about the family name. I was only half-interested when I learned my grandmother was an American woman with blonde hair and green eyes. Apparently my grandmother's genes took a backseat to the Italian genes until me, her grandson, was conceived.

She was a good woman, and not one who should have met the end she was met with. She, along with my grandfather, had been murdered a few years ago.

Nonetheless, I wouldn't have to dwell long about being an outcast to my family. I was leaving the house this summer. I was currently seventeen, in my last year at his high school. I had been offered a full scholarship to the University of California Los Angeles for my high grade point average and my speed on the track team.

Turning my attention back to the television, I switched on King of the Hill. Bobby Hill, what a fucking pansy, but still, it seemed a bit alluring to have little to no standards to live up to. He didn't have a brother that had an incredibly decent job; he only had a father who sold propane.